Rebuilding America
by Grimwrites
Summary: America has recently built an inter-dimensional transportation device. On his first test of his new invention, he ends up in a world where there are no personifications and his country has been warped into a dictatorship under the new name of Panem. He must choose between going home or staying behind to save the lives of his citizens from another world.
1. Chapter 1

In the middle of Virginia there stood a large house in the center of the woods surrounded by lush trees. The sun had just started to climb its way into the sky as a bespectacled young man with blonde hair sat hunched over a table working on a small device full of wires and screws.

Tony, America's alien friend, came down to the basement and handed America a soda and some blueprint sketches with writing scribbled in the margins. All four walls of the basement were covered in convoluted and complex formulas and calculations written in America's handwriting.

"Fucking bitch?"

"Hey Tony, thanks for the soda," said America. "and yeah I think I'm almost done with the inter-dimensional transportation device!"

"Dude, this is going to be so cool!" said America as he rose from his chair and stretched his arms.

"I just finished putting in the last screw and now all that is left is to test it!" America said excitedly.

"Fucking bitch. Fucking bitch."

"Of course I'll be careful and I'm only going to be gone for two hours," said America with a reassuring smile.

"Besides, there is a world conference coming up in a week and I can't exactly miss it," said America with a laugh.

He picked up the device on the table that resembled a slightly bulky wristwatch and strapped it to his wrist. He could feel the excitement bubbling up within the pit of his stomach. He hadn't felt this way since the space race. Sure there were things that excited him and made him happy on good old planet Earth, but he was a pioneer at heart and discovering new worlds had always interested him.

"Alright Tony, wish me luck!" he said as he entered in a set of codes into the wristwatch.

"Fucking bitch," said Tony with a worried look.

"Hey relax I'll be fine, and if something does go wrong and I don't come back after three days you can call England or Japan," said America as he put a hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Japan's good with technology," he said trying to alleviate Tony's worries. "he will be able to help you out if things don't go as planned."

"I'll see you in two hours Tony and don't worry heroes always make it through in the end," said America as he pressed a button on the device and disappeared in a flash of light.

The light from the inter-dimensional transportation device was blinding and America shut his eyes to shield it from the bright rays. Unfortunately, the force of the pull from the device had caused him to fall over and his head smashed harshly against a sharp rock making his head swim. He tried to blink away the spots in his vision, but the darkness kept growing until his whole vision was covered in black clouds as he lost consciousness.

...

The first thing he noticed as he slowly opened his eyes were a pair of dark brown eyes an inch from his face.

"Ahhh!" shouted America as he scooted backwards away from the person's face. However, he had backed up too far and ended up hitting his head against the headboard of the bed he was currently lying on.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, which caused the boy across from him to burst into laughter.

"Are you always this clumsy?" asked the boy. He was around eleven or twelve and had dark brown hair and eyes with small freckles scattered across his nose.

"When I found you on the ground you had a huge gash on your head. You do know that sleeping in the middle of the street is pretty stupid, right? Especially since it's so close to the day of the reaping?" he said with a raised eyebrow.

"Where am I? How long was I out for?" asked America as he sat up on the bed and tentatively raised a hand to his bandaged forehead. The blood had stopped and the gash was already healed, but he couldn't determine from his wound how long he was knocked out for because of how fast nations healed.

"You're in my house in District Three. You've been unconscious for three days now since I found you. I didn't think you would ever wake up."

"Wait a minute, I've been here for three days?!" exclaimed America. Tony was going to kill him when he got back.

"Yeah that's what I just said."

"What's District Three?" asked America.

"You don't know what District Three is?" asked the boy incredulously.

"You must have hit your head real hard if you can't even remember where you're from. You are from here right? I mean it's not like you could have come from somewhere else with the electric fence and all," said the brown haired boy.

"District Three is one of the twelve districts of Panem. Our district mostly works in factories and makes electronics for the Capital," said the boy, which did not help America much seeing as he couldn't recognize half of the places the boy had named. He guessed his device had worked after all and he was in a whole different world.

"What's your name?" asked America.

"Oh, right! I forgot to tell you," said the boy as the realization dawned on him.

"I'm Davie"


	2. Chapter 2

"What?!" America shouted as he unceremoniously fell off the bed.

"Geez, you really are a klutz," said Davie as he observed America's weird spastic reaction.

"I said my name is Davie," he reiterated.

Okay America, calm down he said to himself. This is clearly not your Davie and you have to stop freaking out every time someone tells you that is their name. It was centuries ago and they don't even look that alike. For one thing this Davie's hair is a lot darker and their facial structures are completely different.

"Hello? Anybody home in there?" asked Davie, as he waved his hand across America's blank face.

"Uh, yeah sorry about that. I just zoned out for a minute," said America.

"If you say so...," said Davie unconvinced, but he quickly forgot about it as he moved on to his next set of questions.

"So what's your name? I told you mine, so it's only fair if you tell me yours," said Davie. America smiled at Davie, relieved that this was a question he could actually answer.

"Alfred F. Jones"

"What does the 'F' stand for?" asked Davie, causing Alfred to give off a torrent of laughter.

"Hey, what's so funny?" asked Davie with his eyebrows drawn together.

"Nothing, it's just you would be surprised at how often I get asked that question," Alfred said with a slight laugh. "But I can't tell you, it's a secret."

"What?! Oh, come on that is not fair!" shouted Davie.

"If it makes you feel any better even my brother doesn't know," replied Alfred, which did slightly mollify Davie.

"So you have a brother? Does he live with you? Can I meet him?" asked Davie excitedly.

"He's not here with me, sorry," said America apologetically.

"Oh, I get it," said Davie after a moment. "he's like papa. Mama says that papa is not here with us anymore, but one day we will be able to see him again."

America wasn't sure what to say to that and as he was thinking of words to say to Davie, he heard the door at the front of the house open. A women in her mid-forties with the same brown hair as Davie and a lined face walked into the room.

"Davie, why is our guest on the floor?" asked Davie's mother. "You haven't been harassing him, have you?"

"It's not my fault he fell off the bed! I was just telling him my name and he jumped off like a spider was down his pants or something," Davie said defensively, which caused America to blush sheepishly.

"It's nice to meet you ma'am and thank you again for helping me," said America as he rose from the ground and stood before Davie's mother. "If there is anything I can do to repay you, just ask."

"Don't worry about it," said Davie's mother kindly. "It's not as if we could leave you bleeding out in the middle of the road."

"Although your head has healed extremely fast, considering how deep the gash was."

"I guess I'm just lucky," said Alfred with a nervous laugh.

"Will you be joining us for dinner?" she asked.

"Thank you for the offer, but I should really get going," said Alfred, but his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl as he said it. Davie's mother let out a light laugh.

"Please at least stay for supper. I insist," she said with a smile. "Davie can help you remove your bandages, while I prepare the food." Then, she left and soon Davie and America were once again alone in the room.

Davie grabbed his arm and started to drag him back toward the bed.

"Okay, sit down and try not to fall anymore," said Davie.

"You know, I'm not actually that clumsy," America replied as Davie unwound the bandages across his forehead.

"Your track record says otherwise," said Davie as he threw away the bloody bandages.

"Hey I forgot to ask, but what's that thing on your wrist?" asked Davie, motioning toward the device.

"Oh, it's just a watch that I mad—" said America, but he stopped midway as he looked at his inter-dimensional transportation device for the first time since he arrived in this new land. His eyes widened at the sight before him. One side of the device was completely burned and small wires were sticking out of it. The face of the watch-like device was intact, but had cracks running all along its surface. The battery also seemed to have completely died when the device blew out. Well shit.

"Hey are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," Davie said with a worried look, but America didn't reply. He was too busy trying to figure out how he was going to get back home with a broken transporter. Best case scenario, it would take him at least two days to repair the device assuming he could find all the necessary parts. However, fixing the wiring wasn't the biggest problem. The main issue was with the battery, which required huge amounts of energy to give the device enough power to function properly. He suddenly realized that there was something tugging on the arm of his bomber jacket and looked down.

"Finally! I've been calling your name for the last five minutes," said Davie. "mama says supper is ready."

"Oh, right. Yeah...," said America distractedly as he let Davie lead him toward the small table in the kitchen.

...

Supper consisted of a very thin, watery soup with meager bits of vegetables scattered throughout and a small bite sized roll. It was not much, but Alfred wasn't going to complain. He remembered times in his history when food was scarce. His early pioneer days were not exactly a walk in the park and the Great Depression had been a big low point in his life.

Now that he was able to get a look at the small house he was in, he realized that it was slowly falling apart with its peeling wallpaper and boarded up windows. Honestly, he felt horrible for imposing on them when they did not have much to give in the first place.

"So, Davie says that your name is Alfred. How old are you?" asked Davie's mother with a bit of hidden apprehension behind her eyes.

"I'm nineteen ma'am," said Alfred with a small hint of a southern accent slipping through. His voice always had a habit of doing that when talking to women who were physically older than him, especially when he was visiting his southern states. Although, technically he was older than most people by a good couple centuries.

"That's good, it means you are too old for the reaping," said Davie's mother as the slight tension in her shoulders eased a bit.

"I heard Davie mention that earlier, what's the reaping?" asked America with slight confusion.

"It is how tributes are chosen to compete in the Hunger Games,"said Davie's mother.

"I've never heard of it before. What are the Hunger Games?" asked America.

"You've never heard of the Hunger Games before?" said Davie's mother with shock clearly visible on her face.

"I told you he was weird. He didn't even know what District 3 was," Davie loudly whispered to his mother.

"I must have forgotten all this stuff when I hit my head," America said trying to act as casual as he could, but it was hard lying to a woman who was nothing but kind to him.

"You are not from around here, are you?" she said in a matter of fact tone.

"What? How did you–"

"Is it that obvious?" said America as he kissed his cover goodbye.

"Who are you really? Spies for the Capitol or for the peacekeepers?" asked Davie's mother harshly, but there was a sense a fear behind her brave stance.

"No, I'm not a spy! My name really is Alfred F. Jones," America said quickly.

"I'm honestly just trying to get back home, but my ride back is kind of broken," he said as he held out his wrist to show her the broken transporter.

"A broken watch? You expect me to believe this story of yours?"asked Davie's mother. America knew when he was fighting a losing battle. Even to him the story sounded a bit crazy.

"Look, I'm sorry to have caused you such distress, and if it's what you want I can go," said America with a dejected voice. "but please believe me when I say thank you for everything you've done for me."

Davie's mother locked eyes with Alfred and for some inexplicable reason she felt that she could place her entire trust in him. Alfred broke off the eye contact and turned to head toward the door.

"Wait!"

Alfred turned around at the woman's voice and saw her face conflicted. When she turned to him, she had a determined look in her eye.

"I don't know why, but even when the logical part of my brain is telling me not to trust you, for some unexplainable reason I believe you," said Davie's mother.

"You do?!"

"Yes, and I'm willing to help you get back home if I can, even if I don't completely understand everything," said Davie's mother. "but I think you should stay with us until you leave."

"I don't want to put you out or anything," Alfred said. "you've done more than enough for me already."

"Nonsense, you'll be staying with us," she said firmly, but kindly. "besides if you really are not from here I doubt that you have a place in mind to stay for the time being." He could not exactly fight with that logic and having someone who knew the area could help him find a place to get the supplies he needed to fix his inter-dimensional transporter.

"So I guess I should probably tell you what I need in order to get home," said America, when he was suddenly tackled into a hug by a very energetic little boy.

"Does this mean you're staying? I always wanted a brother!" said Davie with a huge smile across his face.


	3. Chapter 3

As night fell upon District 3, darkness settled into the homes of hundreds of families throughout the district. Inside one of these homes, a young man and a middle-aged woman spoke in hushed tones as they sat across from one another. A small candle between them illuminated their faces and cast haunting shadows along the walls of the room.

"So it is settled, tomorrow after the reaping we will head down to the Shed," whispered Davie's mother as America nodded his head in agreement.

The Shed, Davie's mother had explained, was a large wooden shed that had become a black market trading area where you could barter for items that ranged from old baby clothes to booze. Since District 3 made majority of the technology for the Capitol, it would be easy to find someone who was willing to sell them wires. Technically, the place was illegal, but the Peacekeepers turned a blind eye because they got free drinks in exchange for their ignorance.

"After that we will see if we can get you a job at the factory,"said Davie's mother. They had decided that the best chance he would have of obtaining an energy source strong enough to jump start the battery on his transporter would be to gain access to the large generators that powered the factories in the district. However, one question was still probing his mind throughout their conversation.

"What are the Hunger Games?" asked America quietly.

By now, he had come to the conclusion that the country he had landed in was some type of police state dictatorship. The electric fence around the district that Davie had mentioned had already made him suspicious, but Davie's mother reinforced this theory when she told him that the district needed to have a black market for things that he considered basic supplies.

Davie's mother looked at him with saddened eyes. "It's when two tributes from each district, one boy and one girl, between the ages of twelve and eighteen are chosen to fight against one another in an arena until there is only one person left alive. The number of times your name is put into the drawing is based on your age. The last person remaining becomes the victor of the Hunger Games."

"What?!" shouted America as he stood up from his chair causing the legs to scrape against the wooden floor.

"Shhh! Keep your voice down. We can't be overheard,"said Davie's mother as she looked around fearfully.

"Sorry," said America as he lowered his voice. "but how can anyone do that?! Why hasn't anyone done something about this? Shouldn't the government be putting a stop to this?"

"Alfred, I do not think you understand," she said. "the government is the one who created the Hunger Games."

Alfred sat down in his chair in shocked silence, unable to comprehend what he had just learned **.** The government was systematically killing children in a sick game and nothing was being done about it. This broke every human rights law he knew. Why hasn't any other country stepped in? Just—

"Why?" asked America.

"It's punishment for the rebellion that took place during the Dark Days and it is a reminder to the districts of what will happen if we defy the Capitol," said Davie's mother. "There is nothing we parents can do to save our children. The only way for someone to escape from being a tribute is if someone else volunteers to take their place and that rarely happens in most districts. The only districts that have volunteers are the Career tributes who see it as an honor to compete in the games."

As the information he had just heard started to sink in, a horrible thought occurred to Alfred.

"Davie, is he—," said America in a panicked voice as he turned his head toward the room Davie was currently sleeping in.

"He just turned twelve," said Davie's mother with slightly trembling hands. "this will be the first year his name is entered."

"We can't let this continue, I have to do something—," America began to say, but was cut off sharply.

"No! You will do no such thing. There is nothing either of us can do about the games," said Davie's mother. "you will only end up getting yourself killed. Our main priority is to get you back home. Promise me you will not do anything reckless."

Alfred wanted to argue that something had to be done and that he could not stand by and do nothing. However, Davie's mother was right on one thing. His main priority had to be getting back home to his people, but he could not help but feel he was abandoning them.

"I promise," said America reluctantly, but it eased the tension in her shoulders.

"Good. Now let us get you to bed," said Davie's mother. "we have a big day ahead of us."

...

Late in the middle of the night, as America had finally drifted off to sleep, he was awoken by a tugging on his sleeve.

"Mattie? Artie?," said America groggily as he fumbled around for his glasses, but as he put on his spectacles he saw Davie standing before him with a scared expression on his face. As everything from that day came flooding back to him, he sat up from the couch he was using as a bed and turned to face Davie.

"Hey buddy, what's wrong?" asked America concerned.

"I'm scared for tomorrow's reaping," said Davie quietly. "and I didn't want to wake mama up and make her worried."

America motioned for Davie to sit next to him on the couch and wrapped the blanket he was using around Davie's shoulders. They sat in silence for a while, until Davie was ready to speak.

"Alfred, what if my name gets called tomorrow," asked Davie fearfully. "I don't want to die."

Hearing Davie say that broke America's heart. No kid his age should ever have to worry about something like this.

"Your name won't be chosen tomorrow," said Alfred adamantly.

"But, what if—"

"Trust me," said America reassuringly. "the odds that your name will be chosen are very slim. I already did the calculations in my head and the chances of your name being called are almost nonexistent."

"Really?" asked Davie as he looked up at Alfred.

"Really," replied America with a small smile. "Besides, if by some crazy occurrence your name gets called, I'll find a way to make sure they don't take you. That's a promise."

"Thanks Alfred," said Davie.

"Umm, would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just until I fall asleep?" asked Davie as he fidgeted with the hem of the blanket around his shoulders.

"Sure," said America as he moved over to make more room for Davie. After a few minutes, both Davie and America had drifted off to sleep with Davie leaning against America as a pillow.

...

 **Author's Note** :

Hello everyone! First off I just wanted to say thanks for all those who have read and reviewed. I hope I didn't confuse anyone, but I just wanted to clear up that there is not going to be a personification for Panem or any of the districts. It's essentially a different world where personifications just do not exist. Again, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. :)


	4. Chapter 4

"I hate wearing this shirt, it's uncomfortable," said Davie as he tugged at his white collared shirt. America sent him a sympathetic look. He remembered when England would make him wear stuffy suits when he was a colony.

The day of the reaping had arrived and the entire population of District 3 was gathering in the town square where the tributes would be chosen for this year's Hunger Games. Those who were between the ages of twelve and eighteen stood roped off from the rest of the population and were separated by age group. Davie's mother led them to a table to get Davie signed in, where a man in some type of uniform quickly wrote down his name and put it into a large glass bowl.

"Everything will be fine," said Davie's mother as she pulled her son into a tight hug, before he was ushered away to join the rest of the children. As America and Davie's mother started to make their way toward the rest of the district's population, a hand harshly yanked the back of America's jacket causing him to slightly stumble.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?!" asked America as he turned around to face the Peacekeeper who had pulled him from behind.

"My job," said the man with a sneer as he put a vice like grip around America's arm."All persons between the ages of twelve and eighteen must enter their name in the reaping and you are no exception."

"Hate to break it to you, but I'm nineteen," said America as he effortlessly slapped away the Peacekeeper's hand. This didn't seem to make him too happy.

"You don't look a day over eighteen to me," said the Peacekeeper as he shoved his baton underneath America's chin blocking his way.

"Then maybe you should get your eyes checked," said America as they stared each other down. By now a small crowd was forming around them as the people noticed the commotion.

"Son, you better remember who you are speaking to," said the Peacekeeper as his face started to turn red.

"Don't call me son," said America angrily. The only person who had the right to call him that was Washington.

"What's your name, son?" asked the Peacekeeper with a condescending tone. America's fist clenched at his side. This guy was really starting to piss him off.

"Iamadick," said America with a straight face.

"I am a dick?" said the Peacekeeper confused.

"Yes, you are," said America with a self satisfied smirk. A few suppressed giggles were heard from the crowd as the Peacekeeper slowly caught on to the insult America had just thrown his way.

"Listen here you gutter rat, I can have you flogged so hard that the bones in your back will show," yelled the Peacekeeper as he grabbed America's shirt and pulled him closer to his face. "Now you better tell me your damn name before I kill you right here, right now."

America was ready to punch the guy when he caught sight of Davie's mother who had a horrified look on her face. Her eyes were pleading with him to not make the situation worse than it already was. Damn. He promised her that he wouldn't do anything reckless and here he was about to get into a fist fight with some sleaze ball military soldier. He unclenched his fist and tried his best to look more compliant.

"Alfred F. Jones."

"I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that," said the Peacekeeper with a superior tone.

"My name is Alfred F. Jones," America gritted out as the man at the table wrote down his name seven times and put it into the glass bowl along with the other slips.

"Now was that so hard?" asked the Peacekeeper patronizingly. "Next time I see you around you better remember your place, son."

As the Peacekeeper started to walk away, he stopped and turned quickly, punching America square in the jaw before he left. America was then shoved into the section with the other eighteen year old citizens of District 3 who were looking at him as if he were crazy. What a cheap shot, America thought as he rubbed his jaw. He swore that if his name got called he was going to rearrange that guy's face in a way that even Pablo Picasso would be impressed.

As the final names were put into the glass bowls, they were carried up to the stage where a strange looking woman with a large purple wig stood at the podium. She started to drone on about how great Panem was and how the country had been poverty stricken by the floods and famines, but rose once more like a phoenix to become the wonderful nation they knew today. She also named the past victors of District 3, including two people named Beetee and Wiress who were still alive and stood on the stage awkwardly behind her.

"Before we choose our tributes, I want to wish everyone a Happy Hunger Games," she said with a beaming smile as if this were a joyous celebration. "and may the odds be ever in your favor."

"Now, for the part we have all been waiting for," she said as she reached into one of the large glass bowls and pulled out a slip of paper. "let's have the ladies go first."

"Electra Prevost!," called the woman with the purple wig.

A short thirteen year old girl with black hair and dark skin made her way up onto the stage. America looked around at the crowd to see if anyone would volunteer to take her place, but no one moved.

"Excellent! Now for the gentlemen," she said. "I know you have all been anxiously waiting for your turn."

She reached into the other glass bowl pulling out a slip of white paper and paused to add dramatic effect. As the woman unfolded the slip, America prayed it was not his name written inside. However, fate had a cruel way of handing out miracles.

"The male tribute for District 3 will be—," she said with a short pause.

"Davie Welderson!"

Time seemed to stand still for Alfred. A grief stricken cry was heard from behind him, but his mind had become numb with shock. No! This had to be some bad dream because there was no way that Davie's name could have been chosen out of the thousands of slips in there. Even he had a better chance of being chosen than Davie did, but those facts did not seem to matter because the reality was that Davie's name had been called despite the odds being entirely in his favor.

As Alfred watched Davie walk toward the stage with trembling shoulders, something in him snapped. There was no way he was letting Davie get within three feet of that arena. Being a nation meant that you had to watch your friends die often when they finally grew old, but Davie was still young and had his whole life ahead of him. Alfred knew he would have to say his final goodbye to Davie one day, but today was not that day. He was not going to lose another person he cared about, not yet!

Before he knew it, he was pushing the people in front of him out of the way so that he could make his way toward the stage. There were some undignified shouts as he knocked a few people over, but he ignored them. He hoped Tony would forgive him, but America had made Davie a promise and he was going to keep it one way or another.

"I volunteer!" shouted America.

"Hey! Lady with the purple hair!" yelled America as he tried to catch her attention.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Silence swept through the crowd as he neared the stage. Davie had just reached the steps when he turned around and looked at Alfred with wide eyes.

"I made you a promise, remember?" America whispered quietly as he passed by Davie and confidently made his way up onto the stage.

"W-well, what a wonderful surprise," said the woman with the purple hair as she tried to collect herself. "I see someone is certainly in the right spirit for the games!"

"Why don't you tell us your name! I bet we are all dying to know!" gushed the woman as she motioned for him to speak into the microphone.

"Alfred F. Jones!" he said into the microphone with a smile, while giving a thumbs up to the crowd trying to act like he knew what he was doing because he was honestly flying by the seat of his pants at this point.

"Any words you want to say to the people of your district or to the citizens of Panem?" asked the woman expectedly. It seemed this was one of the more exciting reapings in a long time, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

"With great power comes great responsibility," blurted Alfred before he could stop himself. Oh. My. God. He could not believe he quoted Uncle Ben from Spider-man at a time like this.

"Such wise words from one so young!" praised the purple haired woman.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District Three, I give you the tributes of this year's 72nd Hunger Games!" said the woman as she motioned toward them with a dramatic flourish.


End file.
